


Kaburu

by Kameiko



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blood, Demons, Gen, Horror, Mental Instability, Mind Manipulation, Paranormal, Personal hell, Succubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 03:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17821040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kameiko/pseuds/Kameiko
Summary: What are you wearing?FulfilledPrompt!





	Kaburu

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any franchises, products, and characters mentioned in this story. My work is purely for everybody's enjoyment, and I would like to keep it that way. Having ownership over all this that requires contracts and other lawful fruitfulness is just too much responsibility. I am not ready for that kind of work, nor does my massive paycheck of $0.00 show for it in the world of fanfiction.
> 
> It's been a while since It've written anything like this for any fandoms! This reminds me that I need to write horror like this more often! Hopefully everyone enjoys this! 
> 
> Kaburu (被る - Verb) -> To Wear, To Cover, To Receive

_What are you wearing?_

Frank looks up. “Pardon?”

The woman behind the trench coat with the shady hat takes it off and tilts it downwards. “I’m sorry. What are you wearing for tonight?”

Frank answers a bit uncomfortably as he changes into tonight’s wear, “I am just your underpaid body guard for tonight, ma’am. You don’t need to worry about my outfit of choice.”

_Why are you wearing that?_

He answers with an absent mind this time, “To place my fear and vengeance into my enemies.”

“I didn’t know a man in a tuxedo can be menacing and have a dry sense of humor.” The woman is confused and annoyed. She doesn’t recall his outfit being one of Punisher’s main attractions.

_What are you wearing?_

Frank doesn’t want to give her the real reason why he’s here. The rumors he wants to find out about this place are all around him. He’s here now, and he wants the truth about these colors. “I don’t want to put the fear into your clients tonight. You’re too important to be left wandering around alone in my city.”

_Then why do you disgrace my city with an outfit such as that?_

Frank grows irritated of these roundabout questions. “Do you have any other questions?”

She only answers with a smile.

_What are you wearing?_

“I’m wearing a black tuxedo with matching shoes.” Frank stares past the woman, looking at the gray wall with a bright yellow lamp on the nightstand, it’s flashing as if the lightbulb is going to burn out in any minute.

“Huh. I don’t think this room agrees with you.” She walks up to Frank, hands on his lapel, pulling away at the buttons.

Frank stops her. “You’re late for your meeting.”

“It’s way past my meeting time, hun.” She goes to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door as she undresses herself.

_What is she wearing?_

He watches her. He can’t take his eyes off of her beautiful frame as she purposely slows down her undressing, almost as if she’s trying to do a stripe tease. Her tense form is working. The curves of her hips are what his eyes are attracting. He doesn’t want to pull away, not that he can. He feels two ghostly invisible hands holding his head in place.

She catwalks up to him, naked and full of lust, and her long nails are cupping Frank’s hard face. She leans close to his earlobe, whispering with her red lipstick stained lips, “I will pay you an additional $25,000 if you can watch my natural body sleep all night without falling asleep yourself.”

_She’s wearing what she needs to for a distraction._

She lies on top of the duvet, hands folded over her stomach. “Leftover pizza is in the fridge and plastic cups are in the bathroom. Room service will be here at 6 AM tomorrow morning with a proper hot meal. Please answer the door when they knock.”

Frank looks in the fridge to see what kind of pizza. This doesn’t look like fresh pepperoni pizza with all the white mold growing on it. Surprisingly there are no bugs.

“Sorry about that. Room service really never comes up here. They think this room makes people go crazy. I find the myth fascinating! I rent this room whenever I can to see what it’s like.” She wiggles around, imitating a little dance to show off her excitement.

Frank quickly pulls out his War Journal and writes the following into it: _She likes torturing other people’s minds with a placebo effect for her own psychological thrill. Clear nut case. Damnit, Madani. What psychopath have you brought to my doorstep this time? She’s making me ask these putting off questions in my head._

She only stops wiggling around when Frank finishes his journal entry. “Oh? You look like your mind is lost with confliction. I take it working for the government to pay off a debt of killing doesn’t foresee you?”

Frank closes his book. “Not a debt. A favor.”

She licks her smirking lips, hands move from her stomach to her own cheeks. Head is tilted to her shoulder in an almost cute fashion. She looks like a psychopath ready to seduce her prey. “Favors can turn into long life debts too, you know.”

_She’s wearing her clothes right._

“No sleep for the anti-righteous.” She purrs, shifting her weight to lay on her side. Eyes are closed and no longer paying any attention to Frank.

The lights flicker one time, and then there’s darkness.

_How do you wear your clothes, Frank?_

Frank ignores the voice in his head. He needs to sit down in the chair by the door for a full view, but it’s not there. How unusual behavior. He could’ve sworn he saw one here before lights turned off. Where did it go?

_The chair has nothing to wear. When there’s no wear, they’re not welcomed here or there._

He thinks he’s losing his mind. Chairs are made for a man and woman to comfortably sit in. Not for the pleasantries just to stare at and admire a tone of a palette.

_The chair is bare and not here._

Frank opens up the War Journal again. A new entry is made: _Madani, this room gives off an uncomfortable sensation within the first thirty minutes. Rumor is two hours but depending on a person’s mental health and what their state can handle, less than an hour. Our suspect is doing something to the victim’s minds, just don’t know what. There are these voices that speak of clothing and metaphorical skin wear. Possibly a chemical that’s in the air. An extraction team needs to be here to study what compounds we’re breathing in. So far, doesn’t seem to be fatal. I would call you, but my phone won’t turn on. It turned off when the lights did._

_What do you write?_

_What does the mortal book wear?_

A comprehension Frank still doesn’t understand. He’s staring at the sound asleep body in front of him. She’s looking peaceful. Nothing bad is happening, minus the voices of whispers inside of his head that seem to be sucking a bit of his memory out of his head. He goes to pull away his eyes, they’re forced back to look at the woman on the bed. He hears screams, gunshots, he sees blood on his hands and blood crawling up the bed, coiling around the legs. He wants to scream himself.

_She has a nice shade on her. I want to drink all the blood on her. It’s so nicely lined up with the outline of her veins._

Hands are combing through Frank’s hair; a tongue is flicking inside his earlobe. He moves his head away from the ghostly apparition. Only he turns to see no one is behind him. He feels around his neck, nothing. There are no marks when he checks the mirror. There are no signs of saliva or any phantom sensation that someone has been touching him. There is no evidence that his memories have been tampered with. The gunshots and blood are still intact in his memory.

His War Journal is still opened. He wants to write and so he does. The next passage reads: _Madani, I don’t know what’s going on or what you have set me up with, but I swear to you I will hold you accountable if I end up reliving my worst nightmare._

He erases it. He knows he can’t threaten the DA with some useless words that will end him back in jail. He throws the book on the nightstand. He needs to think. Some fresh water splashed to the face might help. He turns on the tap, washes his face. The water helps him with his eyes. He’s adjusting slowly to this cavern of a dark nightmare. The blackness is eerie. He’s never experienced something this dark. Being held up in tunnels during his military days had lights shining at the end of their tunnels. This one just makes Frank feel like an angler fish is going strike at his face with those sharp teeth.

_She’s wearing the blood of your memories._

Frank steps back. The blood is climbing up his shoes and pants. Bloody hands forming at the end of each strand that dries out. He pats at his pants. There’s nothing there. He starts to freak out, looking at the wall clock he sees he’s only been here for roughly an hour. How much more can he take of this, he doesn’t know. The voices are whispering in his head again, telling him to relax, and enjoy a nice bath for another hour. He doesn’t have to watch the woman on the bed this whole time. He nearly just needs to not leave the room.

A bath sounds nice. It’ll help him clear his head. He starts getting out of his tux, squirming when he feels two hands run up his arms. They’re long, slender, and feminine. Helping him take off his pants and underwear. Taking his hand, making sure he doesn’t trip in the bathtub. Frank turns to see who’s helping him, again hoping someone is there. There is no one there. Sweat rolls off the back of his neck. The fingers wipe it off and lips are planting themselves, sucking lightly, wanting a taste of the memories and nervousness. Frank feels something tugging at the back of his head again, reaching in to pull out the gunfire and screams of his children.

_I like what your memories are wearing. Please, enjoy your bath. You deserve it after dealing with this woman with her ugly blood covered body and personality. She’s not nearly as tasty as a war veteran who punishes the evil blue collared crime families of this planet’s generation. Such a shame would be to let you go to waste._

He’s in the bath, soaking himself. Watching the steam float up in the air from the end of his toes. He admits this is a good idea. He can lie his head back, think, and ignore the miniature candles that appear at the ends of the tub. Red rose petals and bubbles floating around him. Soft jazz playing from the small radio on the bathroom sink. Temptation arises to dance to the tune he’s familiar with. He remembers back in his days with Russo they would lighten up everyone in the tent with this kind of music and dance games. Each thinking about a loved one back home.

_These roses look pretty on you. I want to bathe you with them. Make you smell like a rose garden. Wouldn’t that be nice? I want you all to myself for tonight. Just you, I, and myself tasting your memories of the soul. Oh, you already know how to treat a lady with those happy memories!_

Frank stops when he realizes what’s happening. He quickly gets out of the tub, forcing all the rose petals and soap bubbles to fall to the floor, nearly slipping on everything when he forces his way out the door that refused to open. Panting, he turns back to see that there’s, once again, nothing there but a dimmed swaying light. Just a bathtub full of water. He turns back to the clock, only two hours. He’s already been here two hours, and he wants to high tail it out of this place. Even if he must run out of the place naked.

The radio; however, has shifted its tune. Static starts pouring out, blood is creeping around the sink. Things are starting to look a bit grim for him. He hears children playing, laughing at each other, tossing a ball back and forth, talking about eating an egg salad sandwich, and there is a dog barking in the distance. A faint woman’s voice is creeping through it. Telling the person in front of her how much she loves him and is glad he’s home and no longer away on tour.

_Look in the mirror, Frank. See what I wear._

Frank looks. His face grows pale. In the mirror is Maria, his wife, talking to him through the radio. Waving at him, telling him how he loves him. Lisa and Frank Jr are standing in front of her, waving and looking up at their mother. They’re telling her how much they love their daddy! Frank feels like he’s going to be sick. He punches the mirror, it shatters into pieces. The radio starts flaring out screams and his wife is yelling at him for hurting her and their children! This does make him sick. He throws up stomach acid in the sink. He needs to get out of here and away from this insanity. Screw Madani and her wishes!

_Where you going, Frank? Your wear is showing._

Franks grabs his tux pants. The only thing he puts on. Forget the top and the shoes. He makes a run for the front door. He opens it, nearly has a heart attack when he sees the woman he escorted here in front of him, still naked. She’s holding her War Journal, shaking it lightly in front of his face.

“You couldn’t even last four hours, Castle.” She tosses it to him.

He almost drops it with how badly he’s shaking. He tucks it under his arm and walks past her. She’s right on his heels, skipping away while singing a song that Maria would sing to his children. The hairs on his neck are standing up again, the familiar kiss is bac, but the mouth wouldn’t leave, it’s sucking at his memories again. The laughter in his ear starts to become dry and hoarse the further he moves to the front entrance to the hotel. Rackety and shaky someone’s bones are. Almost as if this young woman turned into a naked old grandmother. He doesn’t want to check and find out.

“Turning me into an old woman.” The lady has aged up. She has her hands behind her back and walking at a very slow pace.

Frank stops. “What are you doing to me?”

_Getting my nourishment. I want to look like a helpless old lady when my next victim walks through those doors, Frank. Didn’t you look around you? Everything’s falling apart all around._

Frank turns to the side to see the wallpaper has peeled off, and cockroaches are scurrying around on the floors. Madani said this place is in tip top shape, and he’s here to investigate a woman by the lame name: Subuccus. Begging him, because he owed her a favor. Speaking of this, he doesn’t recall ever owning any favors to Madani. After dealing with Russo everything on his track is no more. What’s the deal? How did he end up here?

“Before you walk out that door, do you believe we wear our inner demons, Mr. Castle?” The old woman stands next to him, eyes closed, and smiling in a very impish way.

He didn’t answer her. He books it out of the motel and doesn’t look back. Contacting Madani the next day, swearing at her for sending him to a haunted hotel that tried to eat his brain, soul, or whatever! His mind is hazy, and it’s causing him to not think so clearly. He gets no answers. The phone starts to spew off static in his ear. Frank drops the pay phone, nearly falling on his butt on the way out. He’s not the only person who had escaped that hotel that night. He brought the inner demon of wear with him.


End file.
